So often I find myself faced with a crisis of sorts only to realize after it’s over that it was really a test and an opportunity to learn something new, firsthand, so I could share it with others.

A few weeks ago while clearing brush I came in contact with Poison Ivy. At first, I wasn’t even sure what had caused the immediate rash on my forearm. I was near some jewel weed, Impatiens capensis, so I quickly picked some, made a spit poultice (hey, you do what you must when in the field, kids) and got some immediate short-term relief.

What really surprised me, once I realized I was dealing with poison ivy, is that jewel weed didn’t stop it in its tracks. Oh, no. I was treated to an agonizing 10 days of utter misery as the rash spread over much of my arm, both forearms, torso and hip.

I tried many of nature’s antihistamines – yarrow, reishi, lavender and chamomile essential oils. I tried comfrey, oatmeal baths, baking soda and witch hazel compresses. Nothing seemed to help in any significant way. My body was thoroughly pissed off and that was that.

Then two things happened, almost simultaneously. The first was a message from a Canadian friend who shared that a swim in the ocean cured his bout with poison ivy. When talking to my friend and neighbor about this, she mentioned her parents’ penchant for going to the beach each weekend in all weather and bringing home gallons of ocean water to have on hand for cuts, skin ailments, etc.

So, I did what any desperate, suffering person would do: I bought gallons of spring water and drove to my favorite beach. I offered the spring water to the plants growing along the shore. I’ve harvested those roses and the mugwort there for years. It was my special thank you for their bounty. Then, armed with an empty gallon jug, I waded into the ocean to bottle it for home use. ​

By the time I’d filled three gallons, I noticed an immediate reaction from the worst site of the poison ivy, my forearm.It had been a blistered, weeping mess when I got to the beach. After getting splashed with water from simply filling the gallons, the skin on my forearm was no longer blistered and weeping. Instead it felt smooth and soft to the touch, silky, and looked much less red.The painful, burning itching was also gone.

Miraculous!I believe in the power of plant medicine, but nothing was giving me long term relief like bathing with sea water.It’s been three weeks now, and the ugly red blotch is now faded, almost gone with no scarring.Believe me when I say this will be a regular staple in my arsenal.

The second thing to happen was so surprising I’m still shaking my head over it. My best friend had told a story for years about an unfortunate experience with poison ivy or oak that had left him and another friend totally incapacitated.His father had grown up on a farm, so knew exactly what to do.His dad went out and gathered “some plant” that my friend’s mother then boiled and they used that infusion in poultices which cleared everything up within a day. He said the relief was instantaneous. My friend’s parents have passed, so there’s no way to ask what this plant was. My friend has tried to describe it, but this has been known as the mystery plant for years now.

Dad goes on to say that this is an “Electric Company remedy” that all the guys who worked the power lines knew about years and years ago.If anyone got into poison oak or ivy, they would gather Sweet Fern, boil it and turn the infusion into poultices.It would take away the poison ivy within a day or two, bringing instant relief to the sufferer.

I’ve always known Sweet Fern, Comptonia peregrine, to be a wonderful remedy for relieving respiratory congestion. I’d never associated it as a topical for poisons/contact dermatitis.

I whipped out my trusty smart phone, pulled up a photo of the plant and asked if that was what he meant. Yes! Positive ID. Then he said something that my friend had always said, “You can usually find it growing by the side of the road, along highways.” That’s where my friend’s father had gathered it.

A little more research revealed that this was a well-known Native American remedy for poison ivy. Who knew? Well, my dad, who turned 92 this week, and my friend’s dad as well. So, a shout out to both dads, and especially to my Dad on his birthday with thanks for the herbal wisdom.

Happy Fall, and may you be blessed with a nearby patch of sweet fern in case you come across any poison ivy during your fall clean up!

Patrice Green’s holistic journey started in 2010 when she began a mentorship practice with master healer Catherine Miller. Within six months a transformative experience among the coastal redwoods of Muir Woods and its beach inspired further studies, eventually leading to the foundation of Green Aromatics, a holistic practice offering education and consultations in many healing modalities. Patrice offers Reiki, Aromatherapy, and Flower Essence consultations to clients at BodyWise Wellness in Newton, MA. She incorporates energy healing and shamanic techniques into her work.

I first met Charles "Doc" Garcia at the Traditions in Western Herbalism conference in 2012. He taught two classes that year, one on Death and Dying, and one on Herbs for Chronic Pain.

"One generation ago, most people died at home," he said as he began the first class. "We tried then to extend life. Then we tried to extend death. Many herbalists - well, many white, upper-class herbalists, anyway – are afraid to take terminally ill clients, or those with life-threatening conditions. They've never been touched by death at home."

This was not your standard easy-going herbalism class: he was talking about hard truths and hard decisions. He spoke from experience: he told stories of people he'd sat with in their last days and last moments, and how he'd tried to relieve a little pain, provide a little comfort, cultivate a little inner peace. Some of this was herbal – like applying the magic green salve, which every first-year herbalist learns to make, to radiation burns in a terminal cancer case – but more of it was to do with setting aside judgments and listening to the person, in service. "What they want is what they need," he said. "We can help them to not lose any pleasures they can still enjoy."

He spoke a lot about the caretaker's feelings, and how to cope with them. "The ones left behind are the ones who suffer. For the caregiver, as for the dying, you go through the stages of grief. Whatever you do to deal with this pain - it's all right. Sex, drugs, 'unhealthy' food, whatever! Overindulge! Show you're alive. No little rafts, when you're drowning." Doc didn't believe in suffering as a path to becoming 'enlightened': "No one was made a better person through pain."

I had a hard time with that last one. Surely sometimes, I thought, people need to suffer to evolve? To step (or get pushed) outside of their comfort zone? But he insisted on it, and repeated it when talking about herbs for chronic pain, serious pain, end-of-life pain. "Animals don't learn grace from pain, they learn fear. We can rise above our pain, but we don't have to suffer to learn." I started to understand. There's enough suffering in the world, most of it unavoidable. If we pay attention, if we actively seek out those who are suffering and try to help them - there's much and more to learn, right there in front of us, if we only look.

Chuck's spent his life looking. He served in the military, he was a cop; he saw the best and worst of people. He spent years working undercover with the homeless population of Richmond, California – living on the streets, dressing in rags, getting to know the people forgotten and ignored by society. He spent long nights just observing, waiting, and when an opportunity arose he might offer someone a bit of an herbal tonic to fix a UTI, or point out a common weed that could help with a cough. He planted guerilla gardens in vacant lots and abandoned yards. He cultivated relationships over years, rather than marching in with a big red cross and handing out hermetically-sealed single-serving solutions. He walked the walk.

He talked the talk, too: along the way, he began teaching, both about homeless support and also about traditional Hispanic herbalism, curanderismo. Doc is a third-generation curandero; he learned this ancestral approach to healing from his mother and worked only with friends and family for nearly twenty years before he began practicing publicly. When you hear him speak about this side of his art, you get two senses simultaneously: one, that he takes this work deadly seriously and has no time for love-and-light fluffy bunny spiritualism which ignores the dark and dangerous aspects of the spirit world; and two, that he doesn't take himself (or anyone else) too seriously, by comparison!

I have rarely met a more humble, practical, and open-hearted human. He brings a unique and hard-won perspective on herbalism, and is an important voice to listen to for beginners and experienced practitioners alike.

He's the only herbalist I'd ever call "Doc."

Charles Garcia is currently on his Last Hurrah tour of the US, dispensing his particular brand of herbal wisdom as far and wide as possible. He'll be right here in Boston this week, offering two classes: